Keep me Sane N.H.

3

I hate weekends. Not explicit enough? There's the fact my parents are home on the weekends and I can't stand being under the same roof, let alone the same room as them. If I'm not with them, they barge into my room whenever they feel like it to remind me of my imperfection and my mistakes. If I'm in the room with them, all they talk about is my older brother and the enormous hopes they have for him. Then that brings them to the topic about how I'm a crap-tastic teenage daughter.

Sorry, really needed to get that off my chest. It's just that they don't get it. They don't get any of it. They don't realize that the reason I do so much damage to myself is because-

"Avery!" My mother shouted. "I need you to run a few errands for me!" I rolled my eyes at her feigned sweet tone. I closed my journal and hid it under my mattress. I pulled a hoodie and some boots on, grabbed my jacket, a scarf and a beanie to keep me warm from the weather conditions.

"What do you need me to do considering you believe I can barely do much," I remarked.

"Avery, could you cut the attitude out? It's unnecessary." My father stated.

"I need you to mail this letter and pick up a few things from the market." She handed me a small list. I turned the doorknob, looked at both of my parents, and shut the door as hard as I could. I was tired of being worthless to them. I sometimes believe they don't even consider me their daughter anymore. And if they don't, why should I consider and respect them as my parents? In my belief, they don't do enough to even earn the title as my parents.

My therapist tried the group therapy again, managing only a bit successful with me. I participated in learning but when it came to me, I didn't want to talk. And when Ms. Addison realized that she could not get me to say a word, she continued on with whatever she was doing, which was get inside people's heads and take out what you call 'the wrong' in them. Except nothing is ever wrong. There is no actual wound and there is no actual pain. It's something they just tell themselves so that they can continue to feel like crap, but me, I need to feel actual pain so that I know I don't make it up. My physical pain reminds me that my life I live is real, and everything I've been through, has costed me. It reminds me of every single thought being a battle, every breath I take is a war, and that sometimes I don't think I can win anymore.

Niall wasn't there. I constantly glanced at his empty seat in hopes he'd come late, but he never came. It made me a bit sad, but I knew I'd see him eventually when I return to my 'normal' sessions. I don't know much about him, or who he really is, but his presence is calming.

After mailing the precious letter, which somehow had more value to my mother than me, I headed off to the market to retrieve the things she listed.

1) Basil

2) Roma tomatoes

3) Potatoes

4) Chives

5) Chicken

"Yeah, let me get yelled at for not being able to read your mind and know the exact amount you want." I say to myself as I semi-crush the paper in anger. I stopped as I stared at a familiar blonde-haired boy who was in the moment of picking carrots out. I admired the way he smiled and politely held conversation with the woman who held the stand. When girls passed, their glances always went in one direction; his. He was definitely an attractive young man, and the only reason I believe he won't give another glance to any other girl is because of his girlfriend. I stared for a moment and thought about how I could greet him, but something else caught my eye.

The girls who haunted my nightmares, who dreamed of making my life a living hell, were throwing glances his way. If I approached him, they'd use it as an excuse to beat me at school. I had to leave being unnoticed by him, like I'm unnoticed by the rest of the world. I had three of the needed items, but honestly I didn't care if I got yelled at by my mother. It was definitely better than running into those three she-demons.